


dance with me

by EKmisao



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, seriously something is wrong with the relationship tags here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-04 05:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10269833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EKmisao/pseuds/EKmisao
Summary: Dance with the best dancer and instructor in the nation. Sure. No big deal. Of course it is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Umi (umichii)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/umichii/gifts).



> Hello, visiting again. Prompt from umichii with thanks. 
> 
> This was supposed to be a drabble, but while typing it was realized that maybe this would be better spread out a bit. Also I can't process the next part yet. That said, this will not be long (I never managed to make very long things, anyhow).

It was his most memorable bowl of katsu ramen. Not because it was the best he ever had. It was actually quite salty and ordinary as noodle bowls went. But he had been eating pork ramen when he looked up and found the best latin dancer and dance instructor in the nation grinning at him. 

Chopsticks were left suspended in air. A mouth circled. Eyes widened. Cheeks flushed. A heart pounded. 

"Katsuki Yuri," the best latin dancer and dance instructor spoke. "Be my dance partner." 

The chopsticks dropped onto the ramen bowl. He blinked. He blinked again. He bowed to the dancer. "G...good evening, sir, b,b,but I think you have mistaken me for someone else?" 

"There is no mistake." Silver hair fell over a wider forehead, slightly covering one eye as both of them went smaller with a wide smile. "Dance with me, Katsuki Yuri." 

He paled. He switched to English. "T...th....there is some mistake, Mr. Nikiforov, sir!" He stumbled through his English, forgetting that the young man talked to him in fluent if accented Nihonggo. 

"Victor will be quite alright--" 

"Mr. Nikiforov." His heart drummed. His hands grew cold. He kept up the English. "I do not know what they say. But I cannot be dance partner!" 

Victor Nikiforov sat onto the seat in front of him, as Yuri felt his cheeks grow hot. "If you are thinking that this is because you're a male dancer," Victor said, keeping to Japanese, "do not concern yourself." 

Yuri looked up. "Huh?" But he found the face of the best latin dancer and dance instructor in the nation, and quickly lowered his gaze onto his half-empty ramen bowl. Also, that was not why he could not dance with him. That was not what he was thinking. 

Victor placed his forearms over the table as he leaned forward. "Yuu--ri!" He sang out the name and gave him another wide smile. "Your name precedes you, and you come highly recommended. They say you have the footwork and flexibility to match me. I have to prove it for myself." 

"Eh?" Yuri's cheeks burned, even as the rest of his face paled even more. "EH?!" He lowered his hands over his knees so Victor would not see how much they trembled. "There...there must be some mistake! That is not true! I...I...will never match you." He actually wanted to melt into the seat then the floor. Victor Nikiforov sat before him and he, Katsuki Yuri, was making a complete fool of himself before such an esteemed presence. 

But Victor leaned in closer. He was so close that Yuri felt the cold breath on his face as he said again, "Dance with me, Yuu--ri!" 

That was too much. 

"Sumimasen!" 

He stood up from the ramen. 

He ran out to the street. 

He ran to the dance studio. 

He found the farthest corner of the dressing room. 

He curled up into a ball as he desperately tried to calm his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New character sounds a bit like K. Ah, well. Thanks to the friends for things.

Something was wrong, something was very wrong. He did not see Victor Nikiforov just inches from his face and breathing onto his cheek. Nikiforov was looking for someone else, surely he was looking for someone else. Nikiforov clearly had the wrong person, and he had heard wrong, and he was dreaming while awake, or something was in the katsu ramen that made him hallucinate. 

The locker room spun and melted into incoherence as he sat on the floor, his arms around his folded legs, his head buried into it. 

He was not sure how many moments passed before he felt a warm and gentle hand on his shoulder. 

"Yuri-san. I am here. What is wrong?" The voice was spiced, in the way of his people, but kind and warm. 

He immediately felt the world stop spinning furiously in his head, felt the room grow solid again with that touch, felt his earlier moments form into some kind of coherent if unbelievable sense. He took a deep breath. He took another. 

"Something bad?" the voice asked again. 

Yuri managed enough composure to shake his head. 

"Something good, then?" 

Yuri buried his head in his arms again. "Maybe. I don't know. But he's here." 

" 'He'?" 

He grit his teeth, and pointed to his locker door, as he kept his head down. And as Yuri heard the gasp from his roommate and friend, he lowered his head even deeper, hoping it would sink to the floor. 

He had magazine clippings of Victor Nikiforov at the back of the locker door. Phichit knew that as well. 

"Ah. Cool!" Phichit said. "Your good work, getting seen!" 

"No, NO!" Yuri put his hands over his head and ears. "I'll make a fool of myself, and he'll just find out how useless I am..." 

Phichit wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Aiya, I get another talisman for that evil spirit messing with your brain, okay?" 

Yuri lifted his head for a bit as his heart calmed a bit, as he chuckled. "Thanks." 

He let Phichit hold his shoulders for a while longer as the whole locker room settled into place. "Thank you." 

But that was when they both heard a sharp rap on the door. 

"If you're still there, Yuri, someone's here to see you?" It was Yuko, the studio owner. 

Yuri curled up again. 

He felt a warm hand squeeze his shoulder. "At least, let us meet him, yes? It is for something good, you said, okay?" Phichit reminded. 

Yuri lifted his head, uncurled, and breathed deeply. "Okay." 

.........................

They found Victor Nikiforov in their employee kitchen and pantry area, seated at their table, with a cup of green tea before him. Yuko was keeping a wide berth between herself and him, as if afraid to breathe the same air as a star. They found her apologizing nonstop about the lacking amenities of their small studio. 

"I am actually quite impressed, that this studio harnesses so much good talent," Nikiforov said in return, nodding to both Pichit and Yuri. "Chulanont is going to be in the festival, yes?" 

Phichit placed both hands before him as he bowed in greeting. The information was correct; Phichit was invited to the upcoming international dance festival, to present both traditional Thai cultural dances as well as more modern dances from Southeast Asia. Yuri knew about this, and was very happy for his friend, while also thinking that Phichit totally deserved to be in the festival...and he, Yuri, never will. 

Nikiforov now turned to Yuri, who felt the warmth of his face and cheeks. 

"I may have come on too...directly...a while ago, and for that I apologize," Nikiforov said. "But, I AM inviting Katsuki Yuri to be my partner." 

Yuri knew his cheeks turned red as it burned. Nikiforov was now saying it in front of two witnesses, so he could not refuse. "P-p-partner?" 

"It's a non-competition festival performance, Yuu--ri!" He explained with a grin. "I was allowed to choose my partner for a set. And I choose you!" 

"I am NOT a Pokemon to throw a ball at, Mr. Nikiforov!" Yuri managed to say as the heat of his face grew unbearable. 

Phichit placed one hand over Yuri's shoulder, and raised the other hand. "Please, Mr. Nikiforov, sir, if you can explain what will happen, may be better." 

"Ah, true, true." Nikiforov brushed his fingers through the hair that fell half over his face. 

He had also been invited to the dance festival, for a set of latin dances. He had decided on tango. He had also been allowed to select his partner for the event. But he already practiced with several partners who had been recommended to him, and none of them seem to have the balance he sought, nor could they match his speed with the footwork. 

He had seen and heard of this young dancer quietly rising in the ranks, never first nor second place, but getting into better and better competitions until he was already a regular at the national level. Anyone he asked complemented the young dancer's footwork, technical skill, and dedication. 

He was hoping that the dancer Katsuki Yuri would be that partner at his latin set. To be performed on the last day of the festival, before an international crowd. 

Phichit's and Yuko's eyes widened, clearly understanding the implications. 

So did Yuri. He shook his head after hearing all this. "No...no, NO! I am not good enough to be your partner!" 

"Yes, he is," Phichit chimed beside him, however. 

"No, I am NOT!" Yuri protested. He would never be able to match him, on anything, in everything. 

Nikiforov sipped the last of his tea, then stood up, his full height almost reaching the ceiling. "I'll give your friend tonight to convince you, Yuuri, that we're right about this. I'll be back here in the morning, so we can start practice." 

"Wh...what?" 

Nikiforov bowed to them all as he thanked them for tea. Then he waved goodbye as he disappeared behind the door. 

Yuri paled and froze where he stood.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen enough fanart from the fandom to know that several other people have done similar stories. I really suspect those other people will have done better than I will ever do. But thank you for reading.

He turned and made an effort to get up from bed. His head spun a bit. 

"No, no. Go sleep, Yuri-san, still early," Phichit said above. "Just exercise. Will be back." 

"But..." 

"You need rest, my friend. Go sleep. Will be back." 

His body and brain found it hard to object, as Pichit patted his shoulder, then gently opened and closed their apartment door. His body finally shut down enough that he finally sensed sleep coming for him. 

He had been tossing and turning the whole night, his mind going through all the well-known tango pieces, all the steps of all the latin dances. It also went through all the known performances of Victor Nikiforov, which he watched again. His brain went through all the reasons he could go wrong, could make a mistake, could fail an international star. He was tired of thinking, but his brain could not stop. 

He was not sure how many hours passed afterward, but he grew conscious of the smells of cooked rice and stir-fried vegetables. 

"Phichit-kun..." he groaned, "what're you doing." He slowly sat up. "I have breakfast duty..." 

"Change places, then, think for dinner." Phichit scooped rice into a bowl and topped it with the vegetables. He handed it to Yuri. "You needed the rest." 

"Thank you," he said. "Kob kun," he repeated. 

"Be at peace, my friend," Phichit said, with a pat on the shoulder. "You will do well, I am sure." 

....................

As he tended to do when he was worried about a coming performance, he came to the dance studio earlier than the arranged time to practice. His heart still pounded a steady faster beat. if he was going to be Victor's partner, he would try his best not to disappoint. 

He scoured their stack of CDs for the tango pieces. He found the one the studio used for teaching advanced students, and set it playing on their sturdy player. 

As the beat began to set time, as the music began to fill the room, he began to move alone. ONE-two-three-four, ONE-two-three-four, he let the music set the mood as it set the beat. He closed his eyes. He imagined a partner, imagined a tall foreigner partner, imagined Victor Nikiforov, holding his hands. 

He clasped invisible hands to his own, stretched out one arm as he began to step-two-three-four sideways with the invisible partner. He analyzed how it would be, a young man at least half a head taller than himself, with longer arms and legs, with a longer reach. He would have to put his arms up a little higher to accommodate, would have to take wider steps to match a taller partner. That partner would also have fast, quickly-shifting footwork, and he would have to be ready to match and compliment such footwork...

He turned. His hands met a pair of hands. 

The hands were large and warm around his own. 

He slowly opened his hands, to clasp the hands that met his. He kept his eyes closed, scared to break his thoughts and concentration. 

The hands that met his accommodated for his shorter reach, and kept bent arms in clasping his hands. The movements had smaller steps, to match his legs. His heart began to beat out of time with the music. This person holding Yuri's hands matched him, rather than asked him to keep up. It was a reasonable expectation, and yet he did not expect it of this partner, not at all. 

Then the hands let go. Yuri gasped as he felt the warmth of those hands on the small of his back, with the arms winding around his waist. And yet his body instinctively did what the position expected. He bent over backward for the dip. 

The arms that held him did not disappoint, as those arms caught his body, and shifted to hold the back of his head to maintain the dip. He breathed. Those warm hands were confident, as well as assuring. Those hands would never drop him to the floor. He relaxed and executed the full dip, and waited until the hands led his head, neck, and body back up again. 

As soon as he was back upright, he was pulled into fast, twisting footwork. His eyes were still closed, he was still frightened to see what his whole body felt and knew. But he pulled up all his training, twisting and stepping in time with his partner, willing his legs and feet not to stumble and trip, wishing his legs matched the speed. And yet it was...fun, to have a partner this good, this fast, to match against. Not to beat, never to beat or oppose. Always to match, in a harmony of music and body. 

He felt himself lifted off the floor, and even in this he felt confidence and assurance. He let go and allowed the sinewy arms to twirl him around a muscular, tight, frame, and finally to lower his torso even as his legs wrapped around the waist. His body was confidently held. It was....strangely wonderful to be the one held, rather than the one doing the holding and lifting and moving. He felt that he could get used to it, that warm confident grip on his body in a dance. 

But the music began to wind down to the concluding strains, and his partner began to move to wind down the dance. 

The music slowed to conclude, and the footwork slowed in time with it. 

His arms were brought close, and so was his body, until his body felt the sinewy torso of the one who held him. 

The music ended with arms around his whole frame, his own breaths catching up with the end of the exertion, his heart beating both faster and more evenly. The partner who held him heaved, catching his own breath, and Yuri felt the beating heart near his own pounding one. 

He heard a distant clapping, and only then did he remember to open his eyes. 

The applause was from Yuko. Phichit had a wide, appreciative smile, his smartphone still lifted before him, clearly finishing a recording. 

Phichit recorded the whole thing. 

All his panic returned. And he had not even checked who he was dancing with. 

He pushed himself away, and rushed into the locker room. 

.......................

He curled again into a ball at the corner. 

He had danced with Victor Nikiforov. He had done it. He had done it. 

He had loved it. He had loved dancing with him so very much. His body knew it to be so. Every joint and muscle knew it to be so. 

He did not deserve to enjoy himself so much. He did not deserve to love dancing with him. He did not deserve to be dancing with him at all, who was he kidding! 

He held his head with his hands as he tried to keep himself from shaking. It was a dream, a dream, a dream. It would not happen again, it was a dream. 

But he felt a hand land onto his shoulder. 

It was large, and warm, and confident, and assured. 

"Yuu--ri," said a nice, warm yet wintery voice over him. "We'll start practice tomorrow. Let's do this again."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can maybe tell, I do like Phichit, so he gets stuff to do. (I do need to fix the tag, I guess.) 
> 
> Thank you for reading.

Victor Nikiforov decided on three pieces that they would dance to, in a sequence. They equally decided how to patch the three pieces together smoothly. It would create a dance sequence that would show their individual and joint strengths, as well as the possibility of same-gender pairings even in traditional paired dances, besides in modern dance. As it was a public mixed audience, containing experts, enthusiasts, and the interested, the selections were easily recognizable but also display their technical prowess. 

They worked segment by segment, almost line of music by line of music, with Yuko starting and stopping the music at their orders and being their external observer. Sometimes they stopped the music altogether, as they worked out how each step-step-step would be done, point by point. 

Nikiforov was exacting, but not necessarily demanding. The step had to be precise. The turn had to be exact. The timing had to be perfect. But always, Yuri agreed. Every time it was not going exactly as Nikiforov wanted, he would think it was his fault, and think carefully how to fix it at the next round. 

They had frequent water and rest breaks to analyze if it was all going well or if a sequence had to be modified a bit more. 

But the sequence was slowly forming. He was spending hours upon hours moving in time with this incredible dancer. He could not believe his good fortune. 

He could not believe it at all. He kept thinking it was all a big fluke of nature, and that this incredible dancer thought him a weak partner. 

...............

His brain kept running during the nights. This twist was wrong, this turn was too slow, that dip was out of time. He was disappointing Victor Nikiforov at every twist, turn, and movement. He had to be better, he had to be better, he had to be better. 

Anticipate every move, every turn, every gesture. Last practice they lost time at that point -- he had to step faster. He took too long to move up from that dip -- he needed to snap back up faster. He had to be better, he had to be better. 

He was not flexible enough to match -- he needed to have stretches done, lower back and both legs. He felt tired faster than Nikiforov seemed to -- he needed to work on the endurance. He had to be better, he had to be better. 

Most of these plans in the night happened in the morning. As he could not sleep well, anyway, he got up early, fixed the breakfast for Phichit and himself, and headed out for stretches and a morning jog. He returned around the time Phichit was heading out for his own morning jog, and did some more stretched while he waited for his friend to return, to have breakfast together. 

"Yuri-san. Non-competition exhibition!" Phichit reminded. 

"But with Victor Nikiforov," he reminded in turn. "With a world audience. Of the best dancers." 

"Still, my friend. Non-competition. Just to celebrate the joy of dance." 

Yuri smiled and looked down at his omelette, but did not fully believe. 

....................

He got up that morning, his arms and legs feeling heavy, his head feeling dizzy. No decent sleep happened, as he kept going over the practices of that day. They were getting more in sync, but there were still errors. The errors needed fixing. He was still not flexible enough. There were only a week or so left. But he had to get up. He needed to practice. He needed to get the stretches in. 

He got into his track suit, sweating and panting, and forcing himself to ignore it. He needed to practice. He needed to get the toning in. He needed to be better, he needed to be better. 

He held the knob to the front door, as the room began to spin around him. 

But he needed to be better, he needed to --

....................

A loud and heavy thud. Phichit snapped awake. In the dimness of the early morning he moved quickly toward the front door. 

He tapped and shook. "Yuri-san! Yuri!" 

His friend's eyes were well shut, as he panted between muttering, "Need to...have to...be better..." Then he fell silent. 

"Yuri-san!" Phichit tried to wipe the sweat off the forehead, but found it hot at his hand. 

This was not good. 

..................

"Yuko-san? Yes, is Nikiforov-san already there? Oh, no. Yuko-san? Please tell him from me: Yuri-san is sick so he can't come to practice--" 

But Phichit heard the sounds of a phone changing hands. 

"Could I see him?" 

Phichit inhaled. That was the Nikiforov-san. "I...well...Is not that you cannot, but he's sick, and our apartment is small...?" 

"That will not be a problem," Nikiforov's voice said on the other end. "Just give me the directions. I just want to see how he is." 

Phichit sighed, as he looked back at his friend, panting under a blanket. "Okay. Yuko-san knows our address." 

................

Phichit had managed to get some water and a fever tablet into his friend, but he was not sure if Yuri even noticed. It was certain that his friend was deeply sleeping through the fever, but he was not sure how much rest Yuri was actually getting. His friend's body had shut down for him, but his brain still kept running. His friend kept muttering step sequences, one-two-three-four, twist-twist-turn-turn, not flexible enough, not fast enough. 

Several knocks on the door. He placed a cold-water-soaked terry cloth over his friend's forehead, and opened the door. 

Nikiforov loomed tall at the door, as he presented a plastic bag. "Your dance hall manager sent these over." 

Phichit folded both hands together in the praying gesture. "Thank you, thank you." He peered in and found containers of soup. 

Nikiforov's eyes quickly found his friend. Yuri was pale as he kept panting and murmuring, "Need to...be better...Not...good enough..." 

"The manager told me, he tends to be like this before major competitions?" Nikiforov said. 

Phichit sighed as he transferred the soup into their own containers. "Not always, but pretty often. He works himself to exhaustion, just to get better." 

"But he's incredible, as it is!" 

Phichit chuckled. "Tell him, then." He brought one of the containers with him as he walked to the bed. 

But Nikiforov followed after him. "May I? Tell him." 

Phichit removed the terry cloth. "Of course," he said with a smile. 

Nikiforov sat on the bed. Yuri muttered several phrases incoherently, over and over. Sometimes he moaned from the fever. 

He took up Yuri's hand. He clasped it well. "Yuu-ri. Don't worry. Just rest. Just get well. I'm just here." 

To Phichit he whispered, "He's still quite feverish, poor Yuuri." 

Phichit nodded. But he did notice his friend clasp the hand the Nikiforov held. "Is working. Go on." 

Still holding Yuri's hand, Nikiforov leaned in, lowering himself toward Yuri's ear. He whispered, "Yuu-ri. You are already good enough. You will keep getting better. But you are already enough." 

The muttering halted. 

"Yuu-ri," Nikiforov repeated. "You are enough. You are good at what you do. You are good enough to be with me. You are enough." 

"No, no," Yuri answered in his dreams. "Never...will never be..." 

"You already are, Yuu-ri. So, rest. Alright? I'm just here." 

"But...but...practice..." 

"Rest, Yuuri. We still have enough time. Just rest." 

Nikiforov raised his head. Then he lowered it again, to place a kiss on Yuri's forehead, as he held Yuri's hand. 

He kept holding the hand as he kissed it as well. "I'm just here. So rest." 

A rush of color filled Yuri's face. But Yuri also seemed to relax somewhat. 

Nikiforov kept whispering into his ear. "You are good enough. You are enough. You will be even better, but you are already enough. So rest." 

The panting slowed into deep then regular breaths. 

The muttering and moaning stopped, as his friend kept his hand clasped around Nikiforov's. 

The regular breaths gradually slowed even more, until Pichit heard a quiet snoring. 

Phichit clasped his hands together, and bowed to Nikiforov with a smile. "Again, thank you." 

"It's Victor," he said. "It's not as much as you have already done. I'm just helping." He kept holding Yuri's hand, as he stroked Yuri's head and hair with the other. 

"All the same, it was a big help, thank you." 

Victor nodded. 

........................

After many hours and a night, another heavy thud. 

Yuri had jumped onto Phichit's bed. 

"It's maybe five in the morning, Yuri-san," Phichit grumbled from under the blanket. "Are you better now?" 

Yuri shook his friend until poor Phichit moved liked a rag doll. "Never mind me, Phichit-kun. THAT is Victor Nikiforov on my bed!" 

Yuri looked again at his own bed to confirm what he found. But Victor Nikiforov was still solidly on his bed, shirtless and thus revealing his sinewed back and tight chest, and gradually drifting awake because of Yuri's quick movements of wrenching away from being in such close proximity to that chest and those gentle breaths. 

"You just found out?" 

"Yes!" he said in a huff and a panic. 

"Victor's here because of you, my friend," Phichit grumbled drowsily, "go back to sleep? You maybe still need more rest." 

"I can't go back to sleep beside him!" 

"Why not?" asked the other voice that was not Phichit. 

In his panic, he answered anyway. "Because he's Victor and I don't have the right to be that close to him and..." 

"But you've already been that close to him for an evening, a few more hours can't hurt," Phichit answered this time. "I start breakfast later, go back to sleep, my friend, okay?" 

Yuri paled as Victor gestured him back. 

His heart hurt from all the pounding as he dragged his feet back to his side of the room and into his bed. 

He sat on the far end, as many inches away from Victor as he could manage, wrapping his arms around his knees as he curled up. 

And yet he found himself relaxing as Victor moved closer to him, as Victor whispered in his ear: "You're not dreaming, but you'll be alright, Yuuri." 

He slowly uncurled, as Victor kept whispering to him. 

Victor placed a hand over Yuri's pounding heart. Oddly, it made Yuri calm down a little, feeling that large warm hand over his heart, as he was settled back onto his pillow. 

It made his eyes close in restful sleep again as he heard Victor's warm wintery voice in his ear. "You are enough, Yuuri. You are enough."


End file.
